let us heal

Looking back, I'm fairly certain there was a measured amount of self-sabotage in my failed relationships. Maybe this is true of the passion history of each of us. Sometimes this sabotage was due to my inability to be honest or recognize when the relationship needed to end, or with blinders firmly affixed, I would plow through the reality of my life and exist in some parallel space. And then other times I let my own insecurities pollute what could have been crystal clear. This poem reflects one of many moments when I was forced to own my sabotage and hope too-late it could be mended.

excerpt from "let us heal." photo from morgueFile by Schick

let us heal

surgeon hands
control my head
one slip
one small mistake
and the artery bleeds
red platelets
on the kitchen table
over Hamburger Helper
and bagel halves left after a drunken night

delicate designs
of forward motion
suppose to work slow
but i raced ahead
not knowing until the end
i had created a maze
in our bodies
twisted tissues
of cancerous cells
my own disease

unwashed hands
i let them be
to mix within the pumping walls
blood of four chambers, with
one outcome
one cure

separation
a country retreat
in a lonely city
where rain streaks down
your studio windows
and my curved, tin walls
reflecting faces listening
to cars drive
on the black streets

missing pieces
will we continue to putter through
cursing the mechanics
of my untrained hands?

©Erin Croley

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